


shaky lines

by forwardpass



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, Hockey Player Kappy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining Through Tattoos, Tattoo Artist Willy, The Tattoos Are A Metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwardpass/pseuds/forwardpass
Summary: To be completely honest, looking at Bracco’s Calder Cup tattoo makes Kappy so, so thankful that Dicky managed to convince Post Win, Drunk Kappy to put off getting his until he was a little more sober.





	shaky lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andersens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andersens/gifts).



> Thank you to the mods lotts, Stromesquad, and my giftee andersens for putting this exchange on!! Andersens, I really hope you like this <3 A huge thank you and shoutout to Sam for being my rock and sounding board <3 love you, babe
> 
> My years spent watching every single season of Ink Master, Ink Master: Redemption, Ink Master: Angels, Tattoo Nightmares, and LA Ink have prepared me for this moment.
> 
> ~~willy please don't go~~

Bracco’s Calder Cup tattoo is jacked—there are no two ways about it. It’s on his bicep, cursive lettering. He got it the same night they won, drunk off his ass, and it shows. ‘Champions’ is misspelled. It’s crooked as fuck. Lines shaky as hell. Kappy knows jack shit about tattooing besides what he’s learned from like, random episodes of tattoo shows on TV, but even he can tell the tattoo artist couldn’t pull a line to save his life.

Jeremy fucking loves it.

He goes sleeveless (or no shirt at all) for the rest of the summer, according to his Insta. He sent a million pics to the group chat. He doesn’t care that it’s awful—he just loves what it symbolizes. Champion.

To be completely honest, looking at Braccy’s tattoo makes Kappy so,  _ so _ thankful that Dicky managed to convince Post Win, Drunk Kappy to put off getting his until he was a little more sober.

“I know a guy way better than this,” Dicky had said, swaying a bit, as they watched Jeremy flinch and wince in the tattoo chair. “He did my sleeves.” He flexed right in front of Kappy’s face. It was admittedly pretty impressive.

Dicky’s “guy” happens to be Auston freaking Matthews, winner of season 4 of Ink Master, world-renowned black and grey  _ legend _ . So Kappy’s already feeling a little star-struck, a little vulnerable, when a bronze god emerges from the back of the shop. There’s so much to process. The blond hair, the beard, the face, the  _ tattoos _ . A little warning would have been nice.

“My other black and grey guy had a thing come up today,” Auston’s saying. Kappy’s only half paying attention.  “But Willy’s got this.”

Blond Adonis—Willy, apparently—smiles and reaches out to shake Kappy’s hand. “Hey, man. Congrats on the Calder.”

“Thanks,” Kappy says, trying to play it off as super chill. This is Toronto—everyone knows they won. You couldn’t have missed it. It doesn’t mean anything that Willy knows, that he maybe even watched.

“Championship tattoo?” 

Kappy smirks, feels that fire ignite in his gut—that indescribable thrill of winning. “Championship tattoo.”

The tattoo turns out amazing. It’s on his ribs—a tricky spot for lettering—but it looks beautiful. The shading on the Marlies logo and the Calder Cup is flawless. Sharp and clean. Willy wraps him up and explains the aftercare and Kappy listens intently. This isn’t his first tattoo rodeo, not by a long shot, but it’s always good to get a refresher. It’s important stuff. 

Also, listening to the way Willy’s accent curls around his words is  _ doing things _ to Kappy’s insides. He doesn’t sound quite like _ home _ , of course, but it’s a hell of a lot closer than he hears around Toronto usually.

“Same time next month?” Kappy asks, a little hopeful. 

Willy grins. “See you then.”

 

\--

 

So Kappy… keeps going back. 

For tattoos, of course.

The shop—Cactus Fucks Tattoo—is this trendy little thing tucked away in the Distillery District. There’s Auston Matthews, of course, the owner. His relative TV celebrity draws in a crowd—as does his amazing black and grey photorealism. Mitch Marner is basically the best new school tattoo artist in the entire country, and probably the States too. Zach Hyman apprenticed under Oliver Peck and, outside of Texas and SoCal, is the go-to guy for American Traditional. And Willy. The jack of all trades. Biomechanical, Japanese, watercolor, black and grey. He’s done it all.

“Whatever the client wants,” Willy said with a shrug during that first session. “But my first love is color realism, for sure.”

And sure enough, the most dynamic and phenomenal pictures from Willy’s portfolio--displayed on the walls around his station—are the portraits with eyes that shine, the animals that undulate and come to life on the skin, the naturescapes brimming with texture and depth and  _ color _ . 

Just like  _ Willy _ . Bright and vivacious, bold and unafraid. You can’t help but be drawn into his orbit.

So yeah, Kappy keeps going back.

 

\--

 

The second tattoo Kappy gets from Willy is a tribute to Finland.

Black and grey, again.

Over his heart: a photo-realistic lion head roaring with “Suomi 5-1-16” beneath it.

“The golden goal,” Willy smirks when Kappy tells him the date.

Kappy tries not to keel over from embarrassed pride. “It got put on a stamp.” 

Willy starts setting up his machines, little plastic thimbles of ink. “I watched that game. Sweden had just gotten trounced by the States in the bronze medal game. I knew as soon as you went behind the net, that the puck was going in.”

“Yeah?”

“Seems like all you do is win, Kapanen,” Willy says.

He’s eying Kappy in a certain way. A way that makes Kappy’s skin prickle and sing—caught by the heat burning behind Willy’s eyes. Willy pulls his first line, not looking away from Kappy’s face. His hands are steady—William Nylander doesn’t pull shaky lines. Not on skin, not off his lips.

Kappy almost whimpers. 

Fuck, that’s hot.

 

\--

 

If the second tattoo Kappy gets from Willy was a tribute to his heritage—Finland, hockey, and victory—then the third is a tribute to his new home: Toronto.

He gets it on the back of his shoulder—yada yada strength, yada yada weight and responsibility. This is a responsibility he relishes, a challenge he’s up to the task for: bringing the Stanley Cup back to this city which has waited over fifty years.

The tattoo is black and grey, of course. An outline of the Maple Leaf with a detailed Toronto skyline inside. A spot in the center for a Cup to go, later. Eventually. Because it  _ will _ happen. 

“You really think you guys can do it?” Willy whispers. Kappy, facedown on the tattoo chair, feels him wipe away excess ink, trace the skin gap left in that familiar shape. 

This is what Kappy knows, from hours spent in this chair learning everything there is to know about William Nylander: He cares a hell of a lot. It might seem like he doesn’t, like he’s confident and above it all. Toronto his Willy’s adopted home too, and he loves it. He grew up in a hockey family—he wants the Cup to come back to Toronto just as much as Kappy.

“I do,” Kappy whispers back.

“I believe you.”

 

\--

 

The fourth tattoo Kappy gets from Willy isn’t really that deep. 

But... it kind of is.

He makes the appointment with nothing specific in mind. Okay, that’s a lie. He goes to the appointment with the goal of securing a date with Willy by the end of it, but with no tattoo ideas in particular. 

Dicky cornered him for lunch and a lecture the day before the appointment. “Kid, you’re gonna run out of skin eventually. It’s time to shit or get off the pot.” And it was like those dubious words of wisdom actually knocked something loose in Kappy’s brain because suddenly it all  _ made sense _ . And suddenly he was ready.

“I want a color realism tattoo today,” Kappy says.

Willy looks fucking floored and, yeah, maybe this is totally out of left field, but  _ is it though _ ? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’d ruin his whole black and grey #aesthetic thing he’s got going on, but Willy’s worth it. Willy’s been giving him black and grey tattoos for months, now. No questions asked. When his heart is in color.

It’s Kappy’s turn to be brave.

“You want a color realism tattoo? From me?” Willy asks. His striking blue eyes are wide and hopeful. A little playful. 

“I do,” Kappy says firmly. Shit or get off the pot.

“Well damn,” Willy laughs. “Took you long enough.”

 

The fourth tattoo Kappy gets from Willy isn’t even a tattoo in the traditional sense. But it’s a mark on his heart—a tentative, shaky line drawn by a normally steady hand, bridging the gap between their lips.


End file.
